


Two wandering souls

by WahlBuilder



Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Idiots in Love, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3926995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During their journey, Motley makes a foolish move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two wandering souls

**Author's Note:**

> I made inhuman noises while reading _Path of the Incubus_ by Andy Chambers, and shipped these two instantly. There are minor (like, really tiny) spoilers here.

He led Morr into the depths of the palace, insisting that they should rest. They still had time, and he even made a show of nearly-fainting out of exhaustion. Looking from under lowered eyelashes, he caught a glimse of a smile on the usually grim face of the Incubus.

He forced Morr to sit down on a couch, among the piles of tiny colourful cushions, and frowned at him.

"There is a bath here," he said.

The Incubus looked weary despite his words that he had rested enough, and Motley knew it was because She Who Thirsts was sucking his life out of him.

No. He would not allow it to happen to Morr.

"Let me help you with your armour," he muttered, just to say something, and bent down to him.

He touched Morr's lips with his own, then leaned back, suddenly afraid.

Morr froze and looked like a statue, his eyes burning.

"I-I'm sorry," Motley mumbled, looking away. "Can I... Can I ask you to not kill me, please? A punch to the face is fine, though, I understand."

He was not going to run or cover himself. It was foolish, every bit of what he had done, and he deserved being hit for his foolishness.

But the blow never came.

Instead, he was yanked forward by his arm, and he found his mouth being claimed with a clumsy kiss.

He moaned into it and straddled Morr's lap. Parts of the Incubus's armour dug into his thighs, but he didn't care.

"I thought..." he panted, surfacing for air, "I thought you'd kill me."

"I _thought_ ," a voice echoed, hoarse and low, sending shivers through Motley's body, "that killing you wouldn't make you shut up."

"This is the right thought." He grinned and dove in to lick at Morr's cheek.

That elicited a quite unashamed groan from the Incubus, and Motley leaned back again. " _I_ thought you didn't need that. Being a warrior and all that..."

"I'm a warrior, not a prude," Morr growled. Motley thought he liked that growl. "But I must admit," the Incubus added, "I do not have any experience."

Motley couldn't stop himself from dropping his jaw.

A virgin Commorite. Who would have thought?

He smiled gently. "Don't worry. I can take care of you."

Morr snorted. " _That_ is worrisome." He raised a hand and touched Motley's face just under the edge of his mask, looking uncertain. "May I?.."

His heart swelled in his chest, and he whispered, "Yes."

He allowed Morr to remove the mask, and the Incubus put it down carefully beside him, then stroke Motley's face.

"I knew you would be beautiful," Morr said, and his gaze felt like a touch.

Troubled, Motley leaned forward to nib at the side of Morr's neck, but the Incubus's armour stopped his advance.

"You should undress," he grumbled. "And you stink."

Morr laughed -- a whole-bodied, breathless laugh -- and big arms crushed Motley in a tight embrace.

"You said there was a bath here?" the Incubus purred into his lips.

Motley swallowed thickly. "Let's find it together."

 

He was lying on Morr's chest, sated, for now. It seemed that their love-making -- and he wasn't afraid to call it that -- had calmed down Morr's constant anger.

He was listening to the Incubus's heartbeat, steady, powerful.

A hand, surprisingly gentle, threaded through his hair. "Do not cry about me, little clown."

He stirred and raised his head to look into the dark eyes. "I'm not crying."

Morr's face was open like it had never been before, but it didn't make the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth go away.

Motley tried to smooth them with his fingers.

"You know what must be done." Thin lips moved to form words, then to catch Motley's fingers.

"I know," he said quietly, then dropped his head back onto the wide chest, stroking down the pale flesh of the neck, then resting his fingers over the collarbone.

He knew, it was true, but it didn't make the pain any less.

"Don't cry," he heard, and the wide calloused hand resumed stroking his head.

"I'm not crying," he repeated stubbornly, and that was the most blatant lie he had ever said in his long life.


End file.
